


Secrets

by rhienelleth



Category: Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-26
Updated: 2010-03-26
Packaged: 2017-10-08 08:01:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/74423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhienelleth/pseuds/rhienelleth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of the season one finale, the secrets Derek and Sarah are keeping create tension between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secrets

_ **Sarah** _

_ **   
** _

Sarah Connor used to believe. 

_August 29th, 1997.  _For more than ten years, she held that date close, turned it over and under in her mind.  She saw it every time she closed her eyes, every time she went to sleep.  She lived it in her nightmares, and dreaded it when she was awake.  It consumed her.  _The _day.  Judgment Day. 

Until she stopped it from happening. 

Even now, she remembered every moment of August 29th, 1997; every long, incredible second.  She remembered the crawl of tension up her spine, the itch of it at the back of her neck, the headache that had lurked behind her eyes all day, beside the images of nuclear fire from her nightmares. 

It was a Friday, but she hadn’t made John go to school.  Instead, she’d taken him to the park.  They’d eaten hot dogs and ice cream, and watched the sky together, watched people walking their dogs, playing with their children, throwing Frisbees and softballs.  They stayed until the sun set, and longer still.  Until Friday, August 29th became Saturday, August 30th.  Judgment Day didn’t happen, and for the first time since before John was born, Sarah could truly breath again.  Light.  Freedom.  Joy.  She’d allowed herself the weakness of tears, and John had held her hand.  They’d sat together in the darkness of a Saturday morning, and quietly celebrated the continuation of the world. 

Sarah Connor used to believe.  She believed in Judgment Day.  She believed she could stop it.  She believed it was over, and humanity had finally won. 

Until the day belief failed her.  Judgment Day hadn’t been defeated; SkyNet hadn’t been destroyed.  Only delayed.  She and her son had given humanity a stay of execution, that was all.  The nuclear fire was still coming, John destined to rise up as humanity’s savior against the machines.

Belief no longer fueled Sarah Connor, and part of her, the part that wasn’t bitterly disappointed in her own failure, realized that wasn’t such a bad thing.  Belief had driven her down a dark road.  She’d crossed lines, done things, and _almost_ done things that compromised her humanity.  And for what?  For all her belief, she’d stopped exactly nothing. 

She could never allow that to happen again.  What she did now, she did for another reason.  Not for belief.  Not even for humanity, not really.  Instead, she acted out of love.  Fierce, determined, protective love.  She would not allow the machines to win.  She would not allow them to kill her son. 

It was a simple resolution, but one that allowed her to act without the horror of _belief_ creeping back in.  Judgment Day had a new date, but she didn’t hold it close.  She didn’t wake every night from the nightmare of nuclear fire - sometimes, yes, but not like before, not every time she closed her eyes.  An important distinction.  She didn’t see a date in her head, and live it, breath it, _believe_ it with her body, heart and soul.  She looked at John, and knew she would never stop, never give up, never tire of her goal.  In that way, she’d become like the machines.  Like the terminators.  But unlike them, her determination didn’t come from a directive.  It had, once. 

Now, it came from her soul. 

 

_ **Derek** _

_ **   
** _

Like so many other things, they didn’t talk about it.  Maybe, if the jeep hadn’t blown, if recovering the machine – he refused to think about it by its so-called name – hadn’t been Sarah’s first priority, if they hadn’t needed to move, maybe then they would have.  But he didn’t think so. 

Sarah didn’t trust him, and in some ways he preferred that.  _Good, don’t trust anyone, least of all the fucking machine._  But this was going to get in the way if they didn’t talk about it.  Between them, they could only bear so many secrets before the weight became crippling.  Before it crippled the cause.  And that he couldn’t allow. 

_How long did it take_, he wondered absently, _before she trusted Kyle?_  __

_Now where the hell had that come from?  _It didn’t matter.  This, he didn’t doubt, was not the same woman his brother had protected, worshipped, and ultimately loved.  He’d seen it in soldiers before - hell, he’d seen it in a mirror, now and then.  This Sarah had seen too much, suffered too many disappointments, too many sorrows.  Trust had to work past all the hard edges, grim determination, and brittle tension.  So far, he’d only seen her soften for John – and once, when he’d asked about Kyle.  He’d seen it then, before she looked away.  Sarah had loved his brother.

He could use that, he knew he could.  But the thought of using Kyle’s memory in that way left the taste of bitter ashes on his tongue.  It was almost a relief to know there were still some lines he wouldn’t cross.  He’d have to find another way past Sarah Connor’s armor.  He just didn’t know how.  He wasn’t his brother; he didn’t have Kyle’s easy charm. 

Kyle had been the poet.  Derek was just another soldier.

They’d moved to a new house, one with enough bedrooms for Derek to rate his own.  Given Sarah’s habit of throwing up personal boundaries, that put her mind at ease, he was sure.  For himself, it didn’t much matter.  He’d slept for so long on tunnel floors and propped up against whatever surface was handy, the bed turned out to be more a liability than a comfort.  He took to sleeping on the floor, pillow and blankets scavenged from the now bare mattress.  He was sure Sarah knew, but she never commented, never asked.  John would, when he figured it out. 

“Hey.”  As though thinking of his nephew had conjured him, John came shuffling into the kitchen, eyes still heavy with sleep.  “Are you making breakfast this morning?”

Derek almost laughed. 

“No,” he said.  “Just the coffee.”

He didn’t feel the need to elaborate, to explain that the only cooking he knew how to do involved ripping open a ration pack and spooning the contents into his mouth.  He finished pouring water into the coffee pot, and flicked the switch on.  Like beds, coffee was another luxury they didn’t really have in the future.  He’d fallen into the habit of indulging in it here, mostly because Sarah was a stone bitch in the morning if she didn’t drink it. 

John made a nearly unintelligible noise before slumping into one of the kitchen chairs.  His hair hung in a disheveled tangle, and Derek found himself suddenly, powerfully reminded of Kyle at that age.  The odd sense of déjà vu, looking at the slightly distorted mirror of his brother in his nephew, came as it always did – with a pang of loss, a bitter tide of grief.  He closed his eyes, and looked away so John wouldn’t see it.  Took a minute to remind himself that Kyle was gone, but his brother had left this precious gift in his place.  Kyle had given him a family.

He took his time, taking a couple of empty mugs down from the cupboard.  Made sure he had his emotions back under control before he spoke. 

“What are you doing up?” he asked John finally, curious.  “You think your Mom’s going to let you go to school today?”

“Naw.  I’ve got a little more work to do on Cameron.  She’s almost ready.  Maybe tomorrow.”

“Should’ve let it die.”  The comment was automatic, reflexive.  Derek knew he’d started another fight the second the words left his mouth.  _Damn it._

Sure enough, John bristled in his chair, suddenly alert, and angry.  They’d already had the same argument a dozen times in the last two weeks.  Derek had promised himself he’d give it a rest.  John and Sarah were united on this, and the Connors, once they made up their minds, were un-fucking-movable.

“We need her,” his nephew corrected.  “Without Cameron I’d’ve been dead by now.  Mom, too.”  He stood up.  “Besides, if my ‘sister’ doesn’t come back to school with me, it’ll put us on the radar.”

Derek bit back a sigh.  John’s trust in the machine was the one thing, the one true sticking point they would never agree on.

“The school already believes she’s ill,” he said, unable to stop himself from making the argument.  “It would be easy enough to fake your _sister’s _death.”

“No,” said John.  Hard, resolute.  Right now, he reminded Derek of the John Connor of the future.  And of Sarah.  The boy definitely got his temper from his mother.  He hid a smile.  The stubbornness, though, that was all Reese.

Again, as though thinking of her had conjured her, Sarah chose that moment to walk in.  Her dark hair was pinned up in that haphazard way of hers, and she wore all black today.  It flattered her lean frame, but not like the form fitting skirt she’d worn to their first real meeting.  This made her look harder, more warrior than woman.  One look and it gave him pause; maybe some of John’s stubbornness came from his mother, after all. 

She stopped two steps into the kitchen, her eyes moving from John, to Derek, and staying there.  Her smile for her son turned into something flat and thin lipped, the warmth in her expressive eyes cooling.  She held Derek’s gaze for a long moment, then crossed to John.

“Morning,” she said, giving her son a casual kiss on the brow.  “Pancakes?”

_What is it with this woman and pancakes_?

“No,” said John, his jaw set.  “I’ve got work to do.”  His jaw tightened defiantly as he glared one last time at Derek before stalking out.  Sarah watched him go, then turned, one eyebrow raised, arms folded across her chest.

“You two have a fight?”

“No,” he said, as he poured them each a cup of coffee.  “Sometimes it’s just better if certain things are left unsaid.”  He passed her one of the cups, felt the brief brush of her fingers against his as she accepted it.  He met her eyes.  “And sometimes it’s better to say them anyway, and damn the consequences.  I’m better at that second one.”

She eyed him over her cup, wary.

“I’ve noticed,” she said finally.  “What are we talking about, exactly?  Because I’m pretty sure it’s not John.”

He leaned back against the counter, took a slow sip from his own cup before answering.  The delay was deliberate; he knew his silence made Sarah uncomfortable.  That weight of secrets between them was getting heavier.  He imagined her trying to decide which one he was talking about, and almost smiled.  Then he reminded himself to stop goading her.  There was only one thing they needed to talk about right now, this morning.

“You’re angry with me,” he said finally, “for using that little girl.”

For just a second, between one sip of coffee and the next, Sarah went still.  It was the only indication of surprise she gave.  Whatever she’d expected him to say, it hadn’t been that.

_Did you think I was finally going to confront you about Kyle_, he wondered, _or something else?_  It didn’t matter, not really.

He set his cup down on the counter. 

“I saved John.”

“You could have saved him without threatening a four-year-old,” she said instantly, and he knew he’d been right. 

Sarah had never killed anyone.  As many sacrifices as she’d made to protect her son, to stop Judgment Day, she’d never made the truly hard choices.  That was all right; Derek’s life was nothing _but_ hard choices.  He could make those decisions for her, act on them for her, but not if she was going to hold it against him every damn time.  Like Andy Goode.  She was still harboring that resentment, he was sure.  Let it continue, and pretty soon she wouldn’t be able to stand to be in the same house with him, much less the same room. 

“She provided a distraction,” he said evenly.  “And I shielded her from the worst of it.”

“You traumatized her, you mean.”

God, this woman was frustrating. 

“That was John, Sarah, _John_ with a gun to his head.  Anyone else, anyone at all – you, me, any other sixteen-year-old on the planet – and we can afford a little moral high ground.  But not with him.”  He pushed away from the counter, but she didn’t back away.  She never backed away.  “He’s your son second, future savior of the human race first.”

She looked up at him, her eyes dark and turbulent with anger, and he thought for a second she might actually strike him.  But she didn’t.  He could see it in her face, watch as she reined in the emotion.

“How dare you,” she said, biting off the words.  “You think you have to tell me that?  _Me_?”

“Yeah, I think I do.  You make too many decisions based on emotion.  About John.  About the machine.  Your old boyfriend is a perfect example.  Every time he contacts you, he puts us at risk, puts _John_ at risk.”

“I know, damn it.  I’ve already told Charley—”

“Right, you’ve _told_ him.  Wow, really effective there, Sarah.  How many times has he called since then?  I’m sure he’d’ve come by, too, if he had any idea where our new safehouse is.  Thank Christ you didn’t tell him.”

“I—”

“If you_ really_ want him to stay away, give him a fucking reason to, since protecting you and John doesn’t seem to be enough. 

“And how would you suggest I do that?” she asked, snide and sarcastic. She was on the defensive, now.  Still angry, but deep down, she knew he was right. 

“He’s a man, Sarah.  We’re really not that hard to figure out.  Charley comes around because he’s still invested in you.  He’s married to someone else, but he still feels tied to you, because _you’re _tied to him.  Every damn time he sees you, the way you look at him.”  He paused. “You’re still in love with him.”

The silence was deafening.  _Hell_, thought Derek, _how did we go from little girls to Sarah’s goddamn love life?  _This was not the conversation he’d planned on having.  Too damn late now.

“I was _never_ in love with him,” Sarah said softly, after a long moment.  She wouldn’t look at him. 

_Fucking great, Reese_, he told himself.  _That was goddamn subtle. _ 

“I loved him, yes, but I wasn’t _in_ love with him, not really.”  The words came fast and bitter.  “Not that it’s any of your business.  I didn’t allow myself to go that far, to feel that much, with anyone.  Not even when I thought I’d stopped the world from ending.” 

She paused, seemed to struggle with herself.  Instead of defiant and angry, she looked small and defensive.  Derek felt like a complete shit.

“After—” She caught herself, barely.  He could almost hear the name hanging in the air between them. “—after John’s father died, I…”  She stopped, shook her head and he could actually _feel_ her withdrawal.  “It doesn’t matter.  I’ll take care of it, of Charley.” 

She met Derek’s gaze, and he had the oddest urge to reach out and stroke her hair, to offer comfort.  He didn’t.  He didn’t move, didn’t speak.  So Sarah kept talking.

“You’re right.  About the girl, about Charley.  You saved John, and even if that little girl had died, it would’ve been worth it.”  For a second, her mouth trembled.  “I would’ve cried for her, would’ve seen her face in my dreams every night.  But it would have been worth it.  So, thank you.  Thank you for saving my son, whatever the cost.”

He couldn’t think of anything to say, except…

“You’re welcome.”

She nodded once, then,  “Be ready.  We have work to do tonight if I’m going to let John and Cameron go back to school tomorrow.”

After she walked away, he sagged back against the counter, ran a hand through his hair.  Maybe Sarah wasn’t the one he needed to worry about; maybe the weight of secrets wasn’t even getting to her; God, maybe _he_ was the one about to fucking break.  He could think of nothing else to explain his sudden lashing out, over the _boyfriend_ for fuck’s sake.  He’d never imagined, never dreamed he’d fall into that trap.  His brother, sure, but Kyle had always been the sentimental one.  Derek closed his eyes.  Christ, he was jealous over Sarah-fucking-Connor.  The irony was damn near painful.

 

_ **Sarah** _

_ **   
** _

The thing she hated most about Derek Reese wasn’t that he lied to her, or even that he did things like use the lives of small, innocent children to save her son.  Or that he killed people when she couldn’t bring herself to. 

No. 

He made her feel weak.  _That’s_ what she hated most.  He pointed out all the things she wanted to ignore, the things she wanted to remain quietly unremarked upon.  Like Charley. 

She should have been harder on Charley.  She knew this.  She hadn’t been, out of guilt.  She had a lot of guilt where her former fiancé was concerned.  Guilt for leaving like she had.  Guilt for using him to save Derek’s life.  Guilt for drawing him into the nightmare, even though it had actually been John, and they’d had no choice.  Well, other than letting Derek die, which wasn’t a choice at all.  And most of all, guilt for ever accepting his proposal, for ever allowing him to believe, even for a moment, that he meant as much to her as she obviously did to him.  She loved Charley, she did.  Even now.  But she didn’t love him like she had Kyle.  She’d never again _allowed_ herself to love someone like she had Kyle.  Never let them get that close.

And maybe that was really what she hated most about Derek Reese.  Like his brother, he had the ability to get close whether she wanted him to or not.  The habit of seeing past all of her walls and insecurities, to who she really was.  Kyle had seen the strength she hadn’t yet known she possessed.  Derek saw the weaknesses she wanted to forget she had.  Neither insight was comfortable. 

She didn’t avoid him, exactly.  She just didn’t have any reason to be in the same room with him again, not until that night, when Cameron made her entrance for their inspection and approval.  Well, Sarah’s.  She didn’t think Derek would ever approve of Cameron, in any capacity.

John and the machine had done wonders, really, with Vick’s skin, Cameron’s regenerative abilities, and two weeks to patch her back together.  There were a couple of angry red scars, yet, but none that couldn’t be covered by clothing.  She looked…good.  Normal.  Like a seventeen-year-old girl again, instead of a machine, damaged and inhuman.  It was a frightening testament to the indestructible nature of the terminators.

Sarah looked at Derek, where he stood looming in the doorway with a forbidding expression.  She looked quickly back at Cameron and John, and cleared her throat.

“All right,” she said, aware her voice was husky.  “You can go back to school.”  She held out the folder she’d obtained earlier in the week.  “Here are all the forms that prove Cameron was in the hospital, sick with pneumonia.”  They could thank Charley for that, but hell if she was going to bring that up in front of Reese. 

Cameron’s head tilted, that physical response that would have been curiosity in a human.  In her, it simply reflected a piece of data that didn’t quite compute.

“What about John?” she asked.

“He was excused for a family illness – you almost died, you know.”

“Actually, though my body took extensive damage, my positronic chip only shut down for a total of fifty-three seconds, not long enough to qualify as—”

“Cameron.”  God, she did_ not_ need this right now.  And she hated the fact that her tone sounded more like a mother arguing with a teenager than a leader disciplining a soldier. 

“She means the _you_ everyone at school knows,” said John.  “They all think you almost died, and I needed to be away from school because I was worried.” He frowned.  “Grieving.”

“Like Jordan.”

“Yeah, like Jordan.”

“Thank you for explaining.”  Cameron looked back at Sarah.  “My remaining scars will finish healing within seventy-two hours.  Until then I will wear concealing clothing.  No one will know.”

“Good.”  _You’re no good to us if you can’t pass for human._  Sarah stood up from where she’d been perched on the arm of the sofa.  “Derek and I are going out.  We’re going to do one last check, make sure Sarkissian hasn’t come back to his old haunt.”

“It would not be good strategy,” said Cameron, “if he had.  Just as it would not have been good strategy for us to remain at the location he’d identified.  If we assume he has sold the Turk to the man John found—”

“We don’t _assume_ anything,” said Derek, speaking for the first time.  He didn’t move from his position in the doorway.  “We don’t _know_ if he sold the computer to that guy in the photo.  We don’t assume he’s left town.  And we don’t assume he’s ditched his café.”  He shrugged.  “It doesn’t hurt to check it out anyway, see if he left behind anything we missed, before.”

Sarah looked at John and Cameron.

“You’ll both stay here.  Rest.  You have to get up and face school tomorrow, and if I know teenagers, you’ll be pestered with about a million questions.”

John smiled faintly.

“Try a couple million,” he said.  “I’ve already had to use every excuse I could think of to avoid Morris’s phone calls.”  He shook his head. 

“All right, we’ll be back as soon as we can.  Don’t go out.”

“Yeah, Mom.  We know.”

Smiling, she resisted the urge to ruffle John’s hair.  He’d stopped appreciating that when he was eight.  She didn’t think that had changed in the intervening years, but the motherly urge to do it never went away.  She turned and met Derek’s eyes. 

“Let’s go.”

Wordlessly, he followed her out the door.

 

_ **Derek** _

_   
_

He didn’t think it was useless, exactly.  There was no such thing as _too_ cautious, or being _too_ prepared.  But he did think Sarah insisting on checking out the café one last time was more out of frustration than anything else.  The machine had identified the car bomber as the same man whose head Sarah had bounced off the café counter, which also matched the picture of Sarkissian John had unearthed.  That meant they’d had him, Sarah quite literally, and then they’d let him go in favor of the man they’d only _thought_ was Sarkissian.  And because of that mistake, the jeep had been blown with Cameron inside.  It easily could have been with _all_ of them inside.

They were too used to thinking like the machines, who came at you straight on.  Something as sly as a car bomb simply hadn’t occurred to them.  Sarah blamed herself.  Derek had noticed she shouldered a lot of blame for a lot of things.  Failing to stop Judgment Day being the big one. 

The ride there in their newly acquired vehicle – another SUV, and likely disposable soon enough – was silent.  Sarah didn’t speak, and Derek let her keep her walls up.  He figured he’d already incriminated himself enough in the kitchen this morning.  No need to add to his personal fuck up.

Sarah parked the SUV five blocks north of the café, and Derek approved – no sense advertising their presence.  She sat for a moment, hands on the steering wheel, staring into the darkness.  Derek, his hand on the door release, stopped when he realized she wasn’t moving.

“Sarah?”

“He’s a mobster,” she said, and it clarified nothing for him.  He frowned.

“A criminal,” he agreed.  “Yeah, the car bomb kinda gave that away.  No one but criminals and resistance fighters from the future would resort to that.”

She turned her head and looked at him, shadows hiding most of her face.

“Why would a mobster take the Turk?  How would some Armenian criminal even _know _about the Turk?”

Derek shrugged.

“I don’t know.  Sarah, how does this help us?”

She looked away again.

“I don’t know.  It just…something doesn’t add up here.  I’ve dealt with a lot of shady people, learning all the skills I needed to teach John.  To prepare him.  Columbian guerillas, Mexican _banditos_, mercenaries, military men, ex-special forces, thieves, arms dealers, drug runners, even terrorists.  I’ve made deals with the devil, so I recognize the type.”  Her fingers drummed a beat on the steering wheel.  “It’s never been human like this before, our enemy.  He’s not a scientist, he’s not the military bidding on a contract.  He’s Armenian mob, and he stole the Turk for what?  To sell it?  Did SkyNet send someone to buy it, the way John sent you and the others here?  Are the machines learning to use humans for their dirty work?”

Derek laughed, a hollow, harsh sound, even to his own ears.  She looked at him, startled.

“I’ve told you before,” he said, “the machines already know how to use us – _it’s what they do_.  You think Cameron doesn’t have her own agenda?”  He shook his head.  “I’ve tried to tell John – this John, and Connor in the future.  Don’t trust them.  But he does.  Someday, that trust is going to get John killed, by one of _them_.” 

He heard her sharp intake of breath in the darkness, and cursed himself.  _Real smooth, Reese.  Every mother wants to hear how her son dies._

“I don’t mean…look, it’s not something I _know_.  John was alive when he sent me back here.  But in the future, Connor doesn’t trust anyone.  He doesn’t let anyone close to him.  Anyone _human_.”

Sarah was quiet for a long time.  He could feel her looking at him in the darkness.

“John has good instincts,” she said finally. 

“Yeah, he does.  Except when it comes to them.”

She sighed, a weary sound.

“The truth is, that’s my fault.  In dragging him all over the world, I robbed him of something precious.  Something no child should be without.  Stability.  A home.  His innocence.  John learned a lot of things that will help him become the leader he was born to be, but he also learned he couldn’t count on anyone.”  Her head dipped, and he could almost feel her pain.  “Not even me.”

“Sarah…” he didn’t know what to say.  Odd, how he could reassure a sixteen-year-old boy without having to think twice about it, but when it came to that boy’s mother… “…you are the single best reason for the survival of the human race.  The choices you made, the things you taught him…they’re why John saves us.”  He wanted to touch her again.  He curled his hands into fists, so he wouldn’t.  “You’re as much our savior as he is.”

She was quiet for so long he wondered if she’d even heard him.  Then he saw her hand lift, saw it brush at her face, at her cheeks.  Oh, God, he’d made Sarah Connor cry. 

“You’re a lot like him,” she said finally, the words nearly a whisper, so he had to strain to hear. 

“John?” he asked, surprised.  She shook her head.

“Kyle.”  The name hit him hard.  “Sometimes it’s like listening to a ghost.”

She was out of the vehicle before the words finished registering, before he could properly take them in.  He fumbled with the door handle, managing to get out of the car and catch up before the night swallowed her completely.  Sarah talked about his brother so rarely; Kyle was the heaviest secret between them.  One of these days, Derek would tell her he knew.  He knew John was his nephew, he knew she and his brother had loved one another.

But not tonight.  Tonight, they had a mission to complete.

By the time they’d gone a block, the vulnerable Sarah had disappeared behind the warrior again.  She moved with the same cool efficiency of any battlefield soldier he’d ever served beside.  Often, they didn’t even need words.  She would look at him, he would nod, and they’d move in sync as if they’d planned out their approach ahead of time.  It was both eerie and comforting.

But when they got to the back entrance, Derek held out a hand and Sarah stopped.  The café was dark, quiet.  Like it had been for the past two weeks.  But one thing he’d learned on the battlefields of the future, things that looked harmless seldom were.

This was a valuable piece of property for Sarkissian to simply abandon it.  But then again, they knew nothing about the man, least of all his motives.  Next to the Turk, this place could be meaningless to him. 

Patiently, Sarah waited.  But Derek could see nothing to substantiate his feeling of disquiet.  Reaching to the small of his back, he withdrew the SIG P226 he’d commandeered from Sarah’s stash – well, his stash, which Sarah had stolen.  The P226 was a .40 caliber pistol.  More stopping power than a nine, which might not be much consideration tonight, but when one’s usual enemies were terminators…w_hat I wouldn’t give for a decent plasma rifle.  _

Yeah, all he had to do was wait about ten years. 

Sarah drew her weapon as well, and in sync again, they moved forward, two ghosts in the darkness.  Derek took point.  It was automatic, and Sarah didn’t argue.  She was good at his back, keeping him covered while he picked the lock on the door.  It was child’s play, and again he felt that itch at the back of his neck.  Something felt off. 

He’d taken two cautious steps over the threshold when it happened.  He had a second’s warning, maybe less.  A gleam of red out of the corner of his eye, a click on the edge of his hearing.  He didn’t think.  He reacted.  Like a thousand other times in a future where every step might be a plasma bomb disguised as a hunk of twisted metal.  He turned, threw himself back out the door, taking Sarah with him.

He kept her under him, kept his own body between her and the blast as it roared behind them, flame and heat spilling out the door like vomit from some behemoth.  It spewed over the grass, over them.  Hot enough to have him wondering if this was it, if this was the last breath he’d ever draw.  Killed by a civilian bomb in the year 2007.  Another Reese dead in a time not his own.

It took him a minute, maybe longer, to realize he wasn’t actually dead.  That he wasn’t going to be.  He must have blacked out for a few seconds, because when he came to, it was to Sarah’s voice in his ear, frantic, like she’d been when he’d lain bleeding out on her dining room table.

“Reese!”  Her hands moved over him, checking for wounds.  “Reese, goddamnit, answer me!”

Those were tears he heard in her voice, and he would be damned before he made Sarah Connor cry twice in one night.  He tried to speak, and it came out as a groan.  Her fingers tightened on his arms to the point of pain.

“Derek?”

“…yeah,” he managed.  “Lieutenant Reese, here and accounted for.”

Her grip relaxed, and she made a sound suspiciously like a muffled sob.  He raised his head, blinking a couple of times to clear his vision.  She wasn’t crying, but it was a near thing.  Her expression was one of mingled relief, fear, and pain.  Her hair wasn’t pinned up anymore, but a disheveled mess around her face.

“Are you all right?” he asked, suddenly afraid she’d been injured when he’d spun and thrown her to the ground.  She didn’t answer him, and he had to restrain the sudden urge to shake her.  “Sarah?”

After a moment, she nodded shakily.

“Yeah,” she said.  “My ears are ringing, but I’m okay.”

_Thank you, God._

She looked up at him, and there was something in her face he’d never seen there before.  Some emotion, some hint of expression.

“I wouldn’t be, if you hadn’t…” 

He tensed.

“I won’t be the bastard to get Sarah Connor killed.”

“No,” she said.  “Instead you’re the one keeping me alive.  Seems to be a family trait.”

Christ, the way she was looking at him…he moved, rolling off her before she could feel the sudden awareness his body had of hers.  That’s all he needed; a goddamn hard on while lying on top of Sarah Connor.  And fuck, he had to stop thinking about it, or it was just going to get worse. 

He climbed to his feet, slowly, painfully, all too aware of the smoking bushes to their right, the patches of flame behind them.  He stared at the gaping hole in the building that used to be Sarkissian’s café.  There was nothing here for them, not now.  He heard sirens in the distance.

“Come on.”  He turned, holding his hand out to Sarah.  “We should go.”

She hesitated briefly before taking his hand and letting him pull her to her feet.  He didn’t know why, and didn’t want to know.  They moved, quickly and quietly, back to the car.  Derek could smell smoke and carbon on his clothes.  He peeled off his jacket, saw the charred remains of the back, and stuffed it down the nearest garbage can. 

“Are you burned?”  Sarah stood on the driver’s side of the car, staring at him with her hand on the door.

He shook his head.

“It was close, but no.”

It was the last thing either one of them said, until they got back to the house.

 

_ **Sarah** _

_   
_

Sarah poured herself a drink.  Derek had let her use the shower first, and now, while he was in washing off the stink of tonight’s excitement, she poured herself a generous shot of whiskey.  She’d wrapped herself in layers, in fluffy cotton pajamas far too soft for Sarah Connor, mother of the world’s future, and a thick robe on top of that.  It didn’t matter.  She was still so cold her teeth almost chattered.

_Thank God_, she thought, standing in the darkened kitchen.  She hadn’t bothered with the lights.  _Thank God John was already asleep._  She didn’t want to explain to her son how close she’d come to leaving him tonight.  How close he’d come to losing both his mother and his uncle.  To being alone, with only the machine. 

Her hands were shaking as she poured the alcohol.  Delayed reaction.  Adrenaline.  Shock.  She knew all the reasons why she was feeling this way, but knowing them didn’t help.  Not one damn bit.  Tipping the glass, she swallowed the whiskey all at once, felt it hit the back of her throat and slide down to her stomach in a long, slow burn.  The heat hit her belly and spread, fighting back the chill. 

“That help?”

She nearly jumped out of her skin; she hadn’t heard the shower turn off.  She took a moment to regain her voice after that drink, took a moment to compose herself.

“A little,” she admitted.  Then she turned, and instantly stopped, her mouth going dry.

Half hidden by shadow, he leaned in the doorway like he’d been there for awhile, tall and lean, and dressed all in black.  It was casual, both the posture and the clothing, a cotton pullover shirt that hinted at the hard torso beneath more than it clung, but that almost made it worse.  He’d pulled on the shirt and matching pants, but his hair was still wet and his feet were bare.  She didn’t know why the pose struck her so, but it did.  Maybe the events of the evening were affecting all of her emotions.  Maybe Derek had reminded her one too many times of Kyle tonight. 

Maybe because she knew that relaxed pose was misleading, because she could still see the predator lurking behind his eyes.  Eyes that met hers with an intensity that was almost a physical blow.  It rocked her, seized the breath in her lungs for a heartbeat before she remembered to breath again.  The warmth in her belly tightened into a knot of tension, and she found she couldn’t look away.

Finally, she couldn’t stand the silence anymore.  It occurred to her to wonder if he felt any of this odd pull between them, or if it was all just her.  The truth was, Derek Reese made her uncomfortable.  She crossed her arms.

“You want one?” she asked.  It came out more sharply than she’d intended.

“Actually, yeah.”  He pushed away from wall, and she turned quickly back to the counter, fumbling in the cupboard for another glass. 

She didn’t know he was standing so near until he reached past her, until his hand closed around the glass, his fingers brushing hers as he took it from her.  She started, then caught herself.  _Great, Sarah.  Could you look anymore ridiculous tonight?_  Derek frowned at her as she slid a little away, along the counter, not quite looking at him.  He set the glass down, poured himself a double, and her a second shot. 

“Here,” he said, offering it to her.  “You look like you could use another.”

She didn’t want to take it, didn’t want to touch him again, even casually.  She’d come so close to breaking tonight already, she was afraid of being pushed over that edge.  But because he just held it there, waiting, she forced her hand to move, to take the glass as gingerly as possible. 

His frown deepened. 

“You’ve had close calls before,” he said.  A statement, not a question.

“I have, yes.”

“But not quite like this?”

She shook her head.

“No, not like this.” 

He held up his glass.

“To surviving.”

Because he seemed to expect it, she clinked her glass to his before throwing the second shot after the first, the burn this time a welcome fire that melted the knot of tension within her.  As suddenly as flicking on a light switch, she relaxed.  She set her glass down next to his – he’d taken both shots at once, closing his eyes as he swallowed the liquid heat of strong alcohol.  She could see the line of tension along his shoulders ease, and knew he’d needed the drink as badly as she had.

“John almost lost us tonight,” she said.  The words tumbled from her mouth as she thought them, before she could filter.  _Damn._  She tried to recover.  “I mean, he looks up to you already.  It would be hard on him, to lose us both at once.”

Derek looked at her, and his eyes hadn’t changed.  They were still hard, still predatory.  Nervous, she tucked her hair behind her ear, not quite meeting his gaze.

“We’re the only family he has,” he said softly, and Sarah’s heart stuttered.  Did he know?  Somehow, had he figured it out? 

“Yes,” she heard herself say as her chin lifted, daring him to confront her.  “We are.”

An endless few seconds passed, a small eternity in the darkness as they stared at one another.  Finally, Derek swore softly.

“We almost died tonight, Sarah.  Don’t you think it’s time to tell the truth?”  He waited, giving her the opportunity, but she said nothing.  She couldn’t.  _He knew._  “He looks just like him.  If you’d ever seen Kyle as a kid, as a teenager, you’d know that.”

“I _do_ know…I mean, I look at him, and I see his father every day, but…I didn’t know…maybe I was only seeing what I wanted, maybe the resemblance wasn’t so strong you’d notice…”

“I knew the first time I looked at him.”

Of course.  Of course he had. 

“No one can know,” she said quickly.  “No one can_ ever_ know.”

“Yeah, I got that.  Wouldn’t do to make my brother a target.  That’s why we’re going to keep pretending this is a secret, so the machine doesn’t find out.”

He meant Cameron, of course.

“Absolutely.  Good.”

“John knows.”  Derek looked down at his hands.  “I told him on his birthday, that day I took him to the park.”  He looked back up, met Sarah’s eyes.  “He needs that connection.  You’re a great Mom, the best mother John Connor could ever ask for.  But he needs that connection to his father.  He needs me in his life.”

Her eyes stung with the rush of unshed tears.

“I know,” she said softly. “I can’t…” she stopped, choked back the damn tears until she could swallow them, blinked the sting from her eyes.  “Finding you, having you here, it’s like a miracle for John.  I may not agree with all your methods, but having you here is priceless.”

“Yeah.  For me, too.”  He paused, and for some reason all her tension returned in that moment.  As though she somehow knew where he was going next. “You loved him.  Kyle.”

“Yes.” 

He nodded.

“That’s good.  Kyle deserved to be loved.”  He laughed.  “I always told him it was damn creepy, Connor giving him that photo of you.  But I understand, now.  Kyle loved that stupid picture, used to stare at it for hours.  I’d make fun of him, tell him he needed to get over a dead woman, that you were too old for him, besides.”  His smile faded as he stared at Sarah, and suddenly it was hard for her to breath.  “I was wrong.”

“Wrong?”

“You were exactly the right woman for Kyle.”

“Oh.  I’m glad you think so.”

He moved toward her, and she tensed, but held her position.  She wasn’t going to back away from him.

“You’re his type, too.  Strongest woman I’ve ever met.  Hard on the surface, but soft underneath.  You love so fiercely.  Believe so powerfully.  That’s why John Connor becomes the man he does.  It’s why Kyle fell in love with your picture, because he saw all that on a simple piece of paper.”

“I…thank you.” 

Where was Derek going with this?  She felt hunted, trapped more by his words than by his actions.  He lifted a hand and brushed it down her cheek, a slow, deliberate motion.  Sarah just stood and stared at him, waiting. 

“You don’t give ground,” he said quietly. 

Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, but her voice was steady, almost hard when she spoke.

“No.  I don’t.”

“Tonight you said I remind you of him sometimes.  Of Kyle.”

“Yes.”

Right now he didn’t.  Right now he was just Derek Reese, John’s Uncle, the man who’d saved her life tonight, who lived under her roof and alternately irritated and drew her so strongly, she often couldn’t decide what the hell she wanted to do with him.  She couldn’t see the color of his eyes in the darkness, but she didn’t have to.  She could feel the intensity of them, just like she could feel the heat radiating from his body where he stood too damn close for comfort.

“I’m not,” he said, and for a second she couldn’t remember what he was talking about. 

“Not…”

“Not Kyle.  Not my brother.  I’m nothing like him.”

_Yes you are._ 

But he didn’t want to hear that, and besides, he was right.  Derek wasn’t Kyle.  But those differences, the hardness of this man, the things he was capable of, they didn’t repel her like she’d thought they would.  As much as she resented him sometimes, she respected him as well.  He did the things she couldn’t.  If only she could trust him to wait before he did them. 

“I’ve never made the mistake of thinking you were.”   

“Good,” he said.  “I’m glad we got that straight.”

She was staring at his eyes, his face all shadows and hard planes in the darkness.  She didn’t realize his hands had moved to the ties of her robe until it gapped open.

“Wait, what are you…?”

He used the ties to tug her closer, and her hands went to his shoulders, resisting.  He leaned his head against hers, his eyes closed, and she realized his breath was uneven, short. 

“Reese,” she said softly, perhaps aware for the first time of the edge he was walking, the one he’d been wavering on since he’d come into the room.  “Derek.”

“Sarah.  I’m sorry.  Give me a minute.  I just need—”

She kissed him before he could finish.  That edge was the same one she'd been walking herself.  She made the decision to step off.  Her hands relaxed on his shoulders, slid around to thread into his hair as she leaned closer, parting her lips against his.

He made a sound, and then his mouth opened and he was kissing her back, pressing her against the kitchen counter.  One hand fisted in her robe, the other in her hair, still damp from the shower.  Heat swept through her, chasing away the last of her chill, his mouth moving over hers with an intensity that left her breathless. 

He smelled clean.  The faint scent of her soap clung to his skin, in his hair, and his mouth tasted of whiskey.  There was little of gentleness in him, in the way he took her mouth, the way he pressed against her, the length of his cock hard against her hip. The scruff along his jaw scraped her skin, but she didn’t mind.  There was little of gentleness in her, either.  Not tonight. 

His hands slipped under her shirt, splayed over her ribs, trailing up to palm her breasts.  A little rough, they were the hands of a man who’d done a lot of things in the name of survival. Heat stabbed her gut, quick and sharp as a knife blade, and she gasped into his mouth. 

“Not here,” she managed, pulling her head back.  “John…”

She didn’t need to say more.  Neither one of them wanted that kind of interruption. 

She took his hand in hers, linking their fingers together.  Slipping out from between him and the counter, she led him from the kitchen and down the hall, to her bedroom.

“Shut the door,” she said, already stripping off her robe. 

He smiled, faint and amused as he eased the door closed.

“You told me never to come in here again.”

“I’m making an exception.” 

He stripped off his shirt, and then his fingers wrapped around her wrist and tugged her back to him.  She let him, shivering as his arms came around her.  He trapped her against his bare torso while he held her wrists behind her back, his grip loose enough that she could break it, if she wanted to.  She didn’t. 

He kissed her, holding her like that, his chest hard where her breasts pressed against it.  For now, the world narrowed to his mouth.  The way it moved over hers, his tongue teasing her, his stubble a scrape against her skin.  It was impossibly erotic.  She’d never have guessed Derek Reese knew how to kiss.  Not like this.  But he approached it the same way he did everything.  Ruthlessly, efficiently, and with a passion that threatened to overwhelm. 

Or tried to.  He didn’t let her. 

Instead, he backed her against the wall, his mouth a breath from covering hers again, his body caging her in.  His hands were busy unfastening buttons.  Before she could speak, his head dipped, lips and tongue skimming over her collarbone.  Cool air hit her breasts, and she shivered, the nipples hardening into pebbles. 

Was he just impatient, she wondered, or was it something else? 

Before she could pursue the thought, he’d tugged her pants down to pool on the floor beside his.  His hands glided up her back, lifted her free of them. Instead of setting her back down, he pulled her tight against him, flesh against flesh.  Warm.  Intimate.  She wrapped her legs around his waist, wound her arms around his neck.  Moonlight slanted through the cracks in the window blinds, lighting his face, the brilliant green of his eyes.  Even now, there was something serious in them, something restrained. 

Maybe that was it.  Derek didn’t know how to let go, how to trust.  Not that she could throw stones.  He tilted his head, searching her face, her eyes.

“You okay?” he asked, soft, so their voices wouldn’t carry through the walls of the house. 

“Yeah.”

A frown hovered around his mouth.

“You sure?”

“You always talk this much?”

He laughed, low and amused.

“You always this assertive?  Wait, nevermind.  I already know the answer to that.”

She smiled, but whatever she might have said died when he thrust his hips up, teasing.  His cock rubbed against her, heat and friction. She watched darkness spill into his eyes.  That wildness that wiped away restraint.  Her hands dug into his shoulders.  She rocked against him, unable to stop her hips from responding. 

It was too intimate, that moment.  They fit together naturally, easily.  Like long time lovers. 

For a second, Sarah’s heart stuttered beneath her breast.  Lovers.  No.  She didn’t want that, wasn’t ready.  Charley she could send away, run from, escape.  This man would never allow her to disappear, never let her push him away.  He’d said it himself – he needed to be here, needed to be in John’s life.  In her life. 

_Oh, God, this was a mistake._

Her lips parted.  She drew breath to tell him, to stop this before it became irrevocable.  Derek kissed her, seduced her with his clever damn mouth before she could speak.  He carried her to the bed, and she let him, let him sink down among the blankets and sheets, her legs still locked around his waist.  His cock continued to tease her, her own dampness making each glide smooth, almost as smooth as if he were inside her.  He buried his head against her shoulder, panting, as she trailed her mouth along his neck.

“Do you have…?” The words came out harsh and strained, and for a moment she couldn’t imagine what he was talking about.  His hands settled over her hips, tightened.  She stopped moving and looked up.

“What?” she asked, impatient now.

“I don’t…protection, Sarah.  Do you have it?”

Oh.  That.  She flushed red, half angry and half embarrassed.  This was how John had come to be, after all, so she couldn’t exactly fault him for assuming she wouldn’t think of it. 

“You’re covered.  Unless you have some disease I should know about?”  Okay, so maybe that was unnecessarily harsh.  Not that it seemed to phase him.

“No.  Clean bill of health.”

“Good.  Then—”

She started to say _shut the hell up_, but he chose that moment to shift, just enough, to adjust their angle so he could slide smoothly inside her, so her could fill her with that long, hard length.  She made a strangled sound, dug her nails into his shoulders.  It wasn’t pain that had her tensing around him.  She was ready enough, wet enough to accept him without discomfort. 

“You were saying?” he said, the voice beside her ear low and amused, his lips grazing her earlobe.  It sent a shiver down her spine, a ripple of pleasure through her body.

_The bastard._  He’d done it on purpose. 

“Shut the hell up, Derek.”

She had to hand it to him, the man knew when not to push his luck.  He shut the hell up, and occupied his mouth with other things.  Heated kisses, a brush of teeth or tongue over sensitive skin.  He was observant, and he paid attention when she responded to something. 

She rewarded him by straddling him on the bed, her hands braced on his shoulders while she rode him.  It was hard and fast, a little desperate even.  Sarah bit her lip, her breath becoming a little more ragged with each glide of skin over skin.  Her nipples grazed his chest every time they moved, slid across his scars, his tattoos.  When he reached down between them, grazed her clit with his thumb, she wasn’t prepared for it, for the sudden rush of pleasure.  It crested through her, shockingly intense, and she had to bury her face against his neck, muffle her cries so John wouldn’t hear, so the machine wouldn’t hear.

His hips picked up the rhythm when she faltered, kept the friction going.  Her first orgasm had barely faded when the second began, rolling through her.  This time she bit him, hard enough to hold back the scream in her throat while Derek tensed, his hands fisting in the blankets as he came.  His jaw tightened with the effort to stay silent, to keep from crying out while his body shuddered in climax. 

“Fucking hell,” he panted moments later, little ripples of aftershock still vibrating through them both.  He winced, his hand brushing his shoulder where she’d bitten him.  “Christ, Sarah.”

“Sorry.”  She actually felt bad about that.  A little.  “It was that or wake the whole house.”

“Hey, not complaining, just...that was damn close to my neck.  Next time move a little to the left.  I’d hate to have to explain teeth shaped bruises to, say, John.”

She moved off him, his words killing the euphoric glow she’d been enjoying.  Uneasiness swept through her, the panic of before returning to claw at her now that it was too late.

“Next time?” she heard herself say.  It came out colder than she’d intended.  She could feel him watching her as she tugged one of the sheets free, wrapping it around her naked body.  She suddenly felt chilled. 

After a moment, he spoke.

“You’re right,” he said quietly.  “There probably shouldn’t be a next time.”

She’d expected some kind of argument, some male assumption that living in the same house, there would definitely be more of this.  Instead, his words surprised her into looking at him.  His face was neutral, his posture casual where he leaned back on his arms.  He was still utterly naked, and completely unabashed about it.  It shouldn’t have embarrassed her, given what they’d just shared.  But it took an effort of will to look calmly back at him, to meet the intensity of his eyes flatly.  _Unaffected_, she reminded herself.  _Looking at his naked chest does _not_ make you want to straddle him again and trace every scar and line with your tongue.  _But the image was there in her head, and wouldn’t go away. 

She just hoped she remained cool enough that he wouldn’t see it.

“It’s problematic,” she said.  “Complicated.”

“I agree.”

She should have been happy he was agreeing with her so readily.  Instead, she felt hollow.  Not disappointed. 

No, certainly not.

“You shouldn’t be here in the morning, when Cameron and John…”

He sat up, the movement tightening muscles all along his arms and torso.  She looked away as he leaned down and picked up his shirt, pulled it on.

“You’re right,” he said, standing up and collecting the rest of his clothes, dressing.  “It’s best if I leave now.”

Her throat closed up for some reason.  Oh, she was so _not_ getting weepy over some casual damn sex with Derek-fucking-Reese.  She cleared her throat.

“I…Derek.” 

He stopped, his hand on the doorknob, and looked back at her, one eyebrow raised.  The urge to cross the room and kiss him until they were both breathless again was overwhelming.  Instead, she fisted her hands in the sheet, where he couldn’t see.

“This was…we both needed this.  I don’t regret it.”  Damn it, her voice was husky.

He looked at her for a long moment.

“Neither do I.” 

He turned to go, but paused again, seemed to be deciding whether or not to say something more.  Emotion passed over his face, complex, hard to identify.  He ran a hand over his jaw.  “Look, Sarah.”  He stopped, sighed.  “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about Charley after this.”

Her mouth almost dropped open.  Of everything she’d expected him to say, bringing up her ex hadn’t even been on the radar.

“What?”

Derek didn’t seem aware of her shock.  If he was, he didn’t show it.  His face didn’t change, his body language. 

“He’ll know.  Like I said, he’s tied to you.  Part of the problem was he’d moved on, but you hadn’t.  He was the last man you’d been with, and you both knew it.”  He shrugged.  “Now, he’ll know different.”

She stood up, pulling the sheet with her, absolutely appalled.

“You’re not going to tell him.”

“I won’t have to.  He’ll know.”

She could feel heat creeping up her face, embarrassment and anger. 

“Is that why you did this?”  She could have bit off her own tongue for asking, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself.  “Because of _Charley_?”

“No.  But having that problem solved is a nice collateral benefit.”

If he hadn’t opened the door and silently left the room right then, she’d have picked something up and thrown it at him.  Hell, she might have grabbed her gun.  So, really, it was best for them both when he chose that moment to leave. 

When the first tear slid down her face, Sarah told herself the anger had to have an outlet.  Boneless, she let herself slide down the side of the bed, to the floor, and drew her knees to her chest.

She stayed that way for a long time, the sheet soaking up the dampness from her cheeks. Relieved that no one was there to see her cry.

 

_ **Derek** _

_   
_

He went back to his room and shut the door.  He stood there for a long time, his back against the closed door.  Told himself it was better this way.  The situation was too complicated, too raw.  And they had more important things to worry about than all the emotional issues sex could bring with it.  He knew it.  Sarah obviously did as well.

They should have thought of that, before.  Shouldn’t have acted tonight, when they were both still shaky from what had almost happened.  Now, they had one more damn secret between them.

He scrubbed his hands over his face.  _Jesus_, she was beautiful.  Tough, gorgeous, fucking drive-a-man-insane complicated.  He’d never really anticipated this.  Never anticipated the Connors, or how being with them would affect him, emotionally.  How distracting it could be to suddenly find himself an uncle – to _Connor_, of all the sixteen-year-olds in the whole fucking world.  And how drawn he would be to Sarah.

And part of him felt guilty as hell, for coveting the woman his brother had loved.  If Kyle hadn’t been the one, if only he didn’t know what his brother had been to Sarah…

But he did.  And whatever he might feel, whether now, tonight, or someday far from now, it didn’t matter.  Didn’t change a damn thing.  He wasn’t his brother, could never _be_ his brother.  He wasn’t in love with Sarah Connor, and it was best for everyone if things stayed that way.

He still had a job to do. 

 

::_La Fine_::

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
